Alone and lonely
by caringiscreepy15
Summary: In response to the christmas time challenge. no flames please


"Lash, you'd better hurry up, or we won't make it on time!" Lash woke up to the sound of his foster mother's grating voice yelling his name. He hated her so much; he was worried he might kill her if she hung around much longer. The 'family' was supposed to be going to some church thing, but there was no way in hell Lash was going. Why the fuck should he? He wasn't religious. His teeth chattered and he pulled the thin blanket tighter around his cold body as he heard the stomp of the other 8 foster kids running down the stairs and into the entryway. He hated this family and everyone in it. Well, everyone except Anna.

"Lash, why aren't you coming down stairs?" He heard the small girl's voice from the doorway of his bedroom in the attic. Lash had arrived on the day of Lorraine's fifth birthday, exactly 6 months ago. The other kids had completely ignored him from the moment he stepped in the door, but little Anna marched right up to him, a big teddy bear in her arms, and said 'today's ma birfday!' Right away the two of them had become friends. She was probably the most unlucky kid Lash had ever met. She was only five and a half, but she had already had more problems than most people have in their whole lives. She was born 2 months premature, and doctors said she wouldn't live through the night, or through the week, or to her first birthday, but she did. She had pneumonia when she was 2 due to neglect – which ended in her being tossed from foster home to foster home – and she broke her collar bone when she was three, got leukemia and burst her appendix when she was four, and within the six months Lash knew her, she had a liver transplant and was diagnosed with iron deficiency anemia. What shocked Lash the most was that she was the happiest child in the world; she had a small happy face jar that she filled with a penny every time something good happened to her, and it was almost full. Lash remembered one day a week after he arrived she told him that on the day he arrived she put three pennies in the jar. "Hello?" Lash's thoughts were interrupted by the sound of the little girl's voice.

"Hey Anna, what's up?"  
"Vicky says if you don't get your ass out of bed, we're leaving without you." Anna responded with a straight face. Lash wished she could be raised in a proper home, with better parents. Vicky and her boyfriend Roy only had so many foster kids so they could get more money from the government. Vicky was always swearing around Anna, and she picked it up fast. The last place Lash wanted to go was to some church where he'd be handed free food and forced to listen to caroling. "I don't want to go if you aren't going, Lash." The sadness in Anna's voice made Lash's heart ache.  
"Sorry Anna, I'm not feeling good, I think I'd better stay home." Well, it was half true; just a few hours ago Lash had asked Roy if he could stay home tonight and Roy responded by throwing Lash against the wall and kicking his sides repeatedly until he blacked out. And on top of that, Roy and Vicky were so busy they rarely gave the kids any food. Luckily, all but Anna were over 15 and had jobs. Lash however, didn't have to get a job; he had to go to school. When Vicky and Roy found out that the government would give triple the amount of money to anyone who would house a kid with powers, so – of course – they signed up immediately and got Lash. Lash was the only kid who went to school. All the others worked all day and were enrolled in home schooling.

"Can I stay home with you?" Anna asked, giving Lash her best puppy dog face.

"If Vicky says it's okay, then yes, you can." Lash opened one eye to see the bright smile on Anna's small, pale face. She placed her big teddy bear beside Lash and ran down to ask Vicky. Lash heard yelling downstairs, and the horrifying sound of a smack, followed by slow stomps up the stairs. Anna appeared beside his bed again, a bright red hand mark on her cheek, and tears streaming down her face. Lash stretched his arm across the room to shut the door, and then sat up slowly. He picked up Ray and sat her in his lap, his arms folding gently around her. He hated to hear the sounds of her sobbing, but he knew he couldn't fix it. He reached over and grabbed her bear, holding it out for her. As she took the bear, she looked up at Lash, and in that moment, he realized just how badly life was for her. She was so thin her cheeks were hollow, and you could see her ribs poking through. Her oversized shirt was dirty and ripped, and the jeans she was wearing were covered in stains. Her thin, curly jet black hair was in two long messy braids going right down to her stomach, and obviously had been in braids for a long time. Lash positioned his little friend so she was sitting at the edge of his knees, and he took her braids out, slowly brushing her hair with his fingers, and redoing them carefully. Although he wasn't very good at braiding, he had to do something. Lash knew the government paid for all of Anna's operations, but Vicky told Anna that she couldn't get new clothes or dolls because her operations cost so much; and she believed her. Lash also had to turn Anna around because he didn't want her to see him cry. The truth was, Lash cried a lot. Life was so terrible, he couldn't stand it. People at school used to always ask him if he was sick, because he was so pale and so thin. Eventually he became friends with Speed, whose rich family overfed him so much he got teased about it, and the two decided they wouldn't take it anymore. Over time they had made friends with Penny and Gwen, but Lash always felt a little distant from the other three. They wanted power and wealth, and he just wanted to be left alone. When winter break came around, Speed informed Lash that his family was going to Cuba for the holiday's, which made Lash happy in a strange way. He would have a break from Speed. He would have time to just be alone. Lash loved being alone, especially on Christmas. Christmas had always been a bad time. Lash was born on Christmas, three years later he got his powers on Christmas, when he was 7 his parents died on Christmas, and when he was eight he went in to his first and almost worst foster home. As soon as he was done braiding Ray's hair, he wiped his tears on his long striped sleeve and turned her back around. She wrapped her tiny arms around him and gave him a hug, almost as if she was afraid to leave. "Are you going?" Lash asked after a moment of silence. His voice sounded raspy and weak.

"Yeah, but Vicky says we'll be home before the goddam present opening tomorrow. I'm exited for it, Christmas is always happy." Lash gave a small smile and tried his best not to cry. He failed miserably, and felt terrible when Anna wiped a tear away from his cheek and whispered. "I'll be back soon, don't you worry." She gave him a quick motherly kiss on the forehead and hopped off his lap and out the door. He could hear the sound of her worn out boots skipping down the hallway and out the door.

"Lash, you little fuck, if any presents are gone when I get back, I swear I'll kick your ass." And of course, the loving goodbye from Vicky, who was screaming from the doorway; 'little fuck' was his unofficial nickname.

Lash walked slowly out of his room and leaned over the banister leading to the stairs. "Don't worry." He yelled down. "I won't steal the old socks or the can of tuna fish." Lash heard the familiar sound of the door slamming, and walked back into his room. He remembered Christmas when he was little wasn't much better. His parents never had powers, and they were abusive because they somehow felt that getting powers was his way of showing them that he was superior. Lash never understood the logic behind it, he was little. All he remembered was the pain. He subconsciously put his hand on the back of his head, feeling for the familiar bump. He remembered the night before Christmas, exactly 9 years ago, his parents were yelling at him for reasons he couldn't remember. Just before storming out the door, his drunken mother threw a half full bottle of vodka at his head. It smashed, and after his parents left, a neighbor came over and took him to the emergency room. He had been there so many times that they kept his file on the counter. It took 3 hours and 25 stitches to fix him up, and he woke up to the sound of a social worker telling him that his parents had died in a car accident just down the highway. Even then he had a sense of hope; four years of abuse and it was finally going to end. Of course, he still missed his parents. They brought him into the world, after all. Although, he wished all too often that he could go back to being non-existent. He reached into his pocket and grabbed a small razor blade. He twisted his other hand around and lifted up his sleeve. There were countless band aids going from his elbow to his wrist. One thing about being elastic was that he always stretched back, except when he was cut. Think about it, if you stretch a rubber band, it'll snap back, but if you cut it; its cut and it won't snap back. Lash searched his arm on both sides for a clean place, and pressed the razor blade into a small blank area. The wave of pain swept over Lash like a tidal wave. He loved the fact that even thought he couldn't rid himself of emotional pain; he could replace it with physical pain. After he figured the cut was deep enough, he walked over to the dumpy bathroom and grabbed one of the many band aids in the cupboard, carelessly covering his newest wound with it. He wrapped the razor blade in toilet paper and threw it in the garbage. He knew no one would care if they found out – with the obvious exception of Anna – but he still didn't want anyone to know. It was an extreme weakness, but he couldn't stop himself; he was addicted. One thing about super heroes was that they couldn't drink alcohol or take any drugs; it would cause severe and instant damage. This wasn't a big deal to Lash, because he had this. Of course whenever Vicky took ten seconds to notice how sad he was, she'd simply toss him a bottle of Prozac, given to her by the doctor, who said that Lash's chemical imbalance made him seasonally bipolar. Of course, Vicky had no idea what any of it meant, so she simply gave him the bottle when he looked 'fucking emo' as she so fondly called it. Lash was so drunk in his thoughts that he didn't think even for a moment that the sirens he heard was actually a cop car outside his house. He didn't take into consideration the fact that the sound wasn't fading. He didn't think of any of this until he heard the doorbell. He hated the sound ringing through the house; it was so unfamiliar, he felt like it was intruding. He got up, pulling his sleeve down carefully and stomped down the stairs. He opened the door and rolled his eyes as he heard the small gasps of the wide-eyed policemen standing outside the door. He knew how he looked; he knew his extremely tall, extremely thin, extremely pale figure shocked some people. And to top it all off, the dark color of his hair and eyes made the lack of color in his face even more apparent.

"Hello, are you… Lash Kearly? The older looking officer spoke up, sounding unsure of himself; who wouldn't, I mean, how many people have you met named Lash?

"Yeah, I am." He said tiredly, leaning his ghostly frame against the doorway. The officer took a deep breath and Lash could tell there was some bad news. "What happened?" he asked boredly.

"I'm officer Wells, and I'm afraid I have some bad news. Shortly after your family arrived at the church this evening, one of your siblings Anna wandered off." Lash stood up straight. It couldn't be her. "She walked all the way downtown, apparently heading for home, when she was hit by a car." Lash felt like he was going numb. "Anyways, when we went to go find the rest of the family… they weren't at the church." Normally Lash would have scoffed and said something sarcastic and mean about his so-called family, but this time he couldn't even believe it. They knew it would get them in trouble, so they left, dragging all the other kids with them. "We found the address printed in the collar of her jacket" Lash felt a little relieved, he had put the address on the collars of all her coats, just in case she got lost or hurt, and someone needed to bring her home. He cleared his throat before he spoke, but the sound of his weak raspy voice still unnerved the officers. He hated the fact that he worried people so much.

"Where is she?" Officer Wells looked at his feet for a moment to long, confirming Lash's fears that she wasn't okay.

"Look son, I know this is hard to hear, but… she died on impact. The car was speeding and…" officer Wells stopped talking as Lash fainted, landing in a tangled heap on the floor. Normally, the man would have just woken the boy up, but he hadn't seen anyone looking like that outside of a hospital, so he turned to the officer standing next to him. "I'll take him to the hospital, you search the house; something tells me this isn't your average all-American household." Officer Wells then picked up Lash, surprised at how light the boy was, and carried him the back of the cop car, where a third officer was waiting behind the wheel. "This was the only kid home, he passed out when I told him what happened. He doesn't look so healthy, so I figured we'd better take him over to the hospital, to get checked out at least." The newly informed officer nodded and drove off, the light on the roof blaring as they headed to the hospital. They called ahead to have someone prepare a room, and were met by a two nurses and a small wheelchair upon arrival. The nurses had the same reaction when they saw Lash, and again when they wheeled him into the hospital. Officer Wells' suspicions about the boy were confirmed when he heard the urgency in the nurse's voice as she yelled for a doctor to come check Lash. Officer Wells quickly explained to the other officer what was going on at the house, and told him to go assist in the search. He then set off after the nurses, his growing curiosity getting the better of him. When he reached the room where the young boy was, he immediately inquired as to what was wrong. A tall African American man who introduced himself as doctor Myer came up to officer Wells and explained the situation to him quickly, while putting on his plastic gloves.

"The boy is obviously suffering from malnutrition and pneumonia; he also appears to have internal bleeding and loss of blood. Did you find him on the streets?"

"No; I found him in a foster home." Wells replied, hearing his own slightly shocked voice. The doctor simply made a thoughtful sound before walking over and picking up a small clip board.

"His name is… Lash? That's an interesting name, Lash Kearly." The nurse gingerly lifted the shirt off the boy, and everyone in the room stopped what they were doing to stare. The boy was so thin his ribs were sticking out through his skin, and he obviously hadn't been outside in ages, he was ghastly pale. But the worst part of it was the bruises going up and down his sides and all over his stomach. Seeing him, you would assume he was living on the streets, or was in a gang or something. Doctor Myer started taking off the band aids on Lash's arm, and his mouth dropped open a little when he saw the deep cuts. Myer grabbed the clipboard and began flipping through the pages. "Ah, I see; Miss Drale, would you mind closing the door?" The nurse got up and left the room, closing the door on her way out. Officer Wells and Doctor Myer were the only ones left in the room when doctor Myer spoke. "He's a super. When he wakes up, we'll have to inquire about his power, because people die from cuts of this nature." He said, gesturing towards Lash's arm. "I don't see how on earth he could survive it." Lash started to wake up, his head tossed over and his hand reached up and rubbed his sleepy eye. He sat up straight when he opened his eyes and saw all the people staring at him.

"What the fuck is going on?" He asked, shouting as loud as he could with his weak voice.

Officer Wells walked over. "Don't worry son, you passed out after we told you what happened to your sister, and you don't look so good, so we brought you over here."

"Well take me back, I'm fine!" Lash grabbed his shirt from the nurse's chair and started putting it back on.

"Lash, I'm doctor Myer, you need to let us fix you up."

"There's nothing wrong with me!" Lash's voice started to quiver, and doctor Myer could tell he was getting worried.

"Well first of all, we need to know your power so we can medicate you safely." He said, completely ignoring the boy's claims of being fine. Lash looked around to make sure no one else could see, and then he stretched his cut-free arm all the way across the room. Both adults gave a short gasp. Neither had ever seen a super in the flesh. "Elasticity… huh; that would explain it." Doctor Myer said, glancing at his clipboard. Lash kept looking down; he had a feeling he knew what the doctor was talking about. "I saw the cuts on your arm; you know… there is no way any normal person would have survived that. I can tell that some of them are at least a month old. We need to stitch them up. You also have some internal bleeding, and minor pneumonia. And you really need to eat something."

"I'm not hungry." Lash grumbled. He didn't know things had been that bad. Sure the house was always cold, but he got used to it. And sure, Roy picked on him, but he usually blacked out before it got too bad.

"Look Lash, I need you to drink this fluid. It'll put you to sleep so we can stop the bleeding in your stomach." Lash shook his head no. "Son, we need to get it out." Lash looked up at the doctor, a bitter glare on his face. He reached out and grabbed the cup, swallowing it quickly. It tasted disgusting; he couldn't stand it. The doctor told him to lie back, and when he did he felt himself start to get drowsy. He felt something warm running down his face, and raised his arm, rubbing his face with his long sleeve. They were tears. Lash hated crying in public, but he knew there was nothing he could do about it. Ray was gone, and he could have stopped it. He could have told her to stay up with him. If Roy had come upstairs to get her, Lash could have taken a beating. His eyelids felt heavy as he thought over what he could have done to save Ray, and – before he knew it – he was asleep. The doctor waited another few minutes before starting the surgery. In his opinion, this boy should be thankful he has powers, most humans couldn't survive all this. Unfortunately, the boy had an odd reaction to the medication that made him sleep, and he stopped breathing – this was temporarily solved by a small breathing tube inserted from his nostrils. Other than that, the surgery was exceptionally easy, considering they could pull sections of skin far away without detaching them, making a clear area. They removed all the blood in his stomach, and stitched him back up. Doctor Myer also stitched up the cuts in his wrist, and got him warm for when he woke up… which he did not long after.

"Where's Ray?" Was the first thing to come out of his mouth; it took officer Wells a few moments to realize that he was speaking of his younger sibling.

"She's not here Lash, she… passed on." In any other setting, Wells would have just explained the whole scenario again, but he figured he should put it more carefully, considering what the boy had been through.

"It's my fault, you know." Officer Wells was preparing to make the speech he so often made about how it was really no one's fault blah blah blah. "She asked if she could stay home with me, and I said only if Roy let her. I could have just let her stay up. I could have taken whatever Roy would do to me; it'd be better than Ray being dead." Officer Wells was about to start when he realized something Lash had said. 'I could have taken whatever Roy would do to me.' That didn't sound like a loving foster parent- foster son relationship.

"Don't worry son, it's not your fault. Tell me a bit about this Roy guy."

"He's a fucking asshole." Lash spoke calmly, almost brightly.

"Care to elaborate?" Officer Wells was used to this kind of language from teenagers.

"Not really, no." Lash gave in after a stern look from the police officer. "He doesn't like me very much, because I have powers or whatever. Anyways, I'm like his personal elastic punching bag. If any of the other kids piss him off, he just comes and finds me. It's no biggie though, I usually black out before it gets too bad, and I wake up numb. It's actually not a bad little pattern. It gives me something to bitch about." Wells couldn't believe it. This boy had been so badly neglected, that whenever he got attention – even if it was abuse – he didn't mind it?

"I'm sorry to hear that son, how long has it been going on?" He of course would make time to be sympathetic, but he had questions that needed answering.

"From Roy?" He didn't wait for an answer. "It's been like this for about six months."

"Have there been others?" This was starting to be a complicated situation.

"Well, my parents were pretty sick too, but they died when I was like, 7 so…" Lash was obviously ending the conversation, so Wells decided to leave. He informed the nurses on his way out that the boy was awake, and got a taxi to the station. He had a lot of paperwork to do. And he had to find out about this Roy guy. Child abuse had never been a big thing in the area, so it wouldn't be taken lightly. After finishing up the paperwork, he called his colleague, Hogely, who had stayed at the house to investigate. He picked up on the first ring.

"Hey Wells, you'd better come take a look at this place. It's like hell, minus the warmth."

"Yeah, you know that boy who passed out? Took him over to the hospital, he was suffering from malnutrition, pneumonia, internal bleeding, and loss of blood from a bunch of cuts on his wrist."

"As sick as it sounds, that doesn't surprise me. I just sent out Phillips to go get you, he helped me out here. He'll be there in a few minutes; we got some stuff you'd better take a look at." Wells hung up the phone and walked outside to wait for his ride. He couldn't believe that sort of crime was being committed in this area. It was supposed to be so peaceful. After a short while he saw the car pull up, and he hopped in. Officer Phillips did a bit of a recap, and then Wells explained what had happened at the hospital. Officer Phillips was the only one of the three of them who had any kids, and he went almost as white as Lash when he heard what had happened. By the time they were finished, they had reached the house, and Wells was lead inside and directly up to the boy's room. "Look at this." Hogely said, gesturing to the wall beside the small bed. There was dried blood smeared across several areas. It looked like it had been there for quite a while. Wells was lead all through the house, and the three officers didn't finish until close to midnight.

"Look guys, I know this is really important, but my daughter is really exited to open presents this morning, and I really need to be there for her. Do you think we could continue with this tomorrow afternoon?" They all agreed to meet again after dinner the following night to finish off the investigation. Hogely and Phillips headed home, but officer Wells decided to make one last visit to the hospital, to check on Lash. Something about the boy reminded him of – not himself – but his younger brother, who had died of leukemia at age 9; and this similarity made it impossible for Wells to simply go home and sleep. He had to check on the boy. When he reached the hospital, he walked right over to the nurse and asked if he was still in the same room; he was. The officer walked down the hospital halls, a dreaded feeling in the pit of his stomach; he began to walk faster and faster until he found himself running down the halls towards the room the boy was said to be in. He ran into the room, expecting a disaster to have happened. Instead, he found Lash talking animatedly into a cell phone, a breathing tube still inserted, and a lunch tray going over his thighs. Wells walked in at the exact moment Lash was finishing his conversation. He noticed they kept Lash in the hospital gown, and had a large white bandage over the cut area of his arm. Lash still hadn't noticed his presence, and was now pushing food around his plate. Wells cleared his throat.

"Feeling any better?" He asked after failing to get the boy's attention.

Lash looked up at him, an eerie smile on his face. "Yeah I feel great; I mean, sure I just had my stomach ripped open and sewn back together and sure, I can't breathe without this stupid fucking tube in my throat, and the only person I care about was just hit by a truck, but yeah, I feel like a million bucks. Oh, and this paper thing I'm wearing… so comfortable." The sarcasm was dripping from his voice like venom. "What about you officer, are you having a pleasant evening?" The frightened, sick boy he had seen pass out in the doorway was gone; replaced by this cocky, sarcastic kid. Wells still couldn't will himself to leave. He could tell the boy's act was fake; his eyes gave it away, they looked just like they did before. Scared, alone, and hurt.

"Well, my night was going just fine until I found a sickly looking boy who passed out when I had to tell him his foster sister died." Two can play that game. Lash's eyes started to cloud over a little, and Wells immediately regretted what he had said. He was just trying to act in kind, not knowing that it would have such an affect on the poor boy. "Look, I'm sorry, that wasn't appropriate; what happened to you tonight was unfair. It shouldn't happen to anyone, but it does. And I'm sure you'll feel better by the time you're opening presents with the family."

Lash scoffed. "What family, the ones that left as soon as something was wrong with Ray? The ones who are abusive just because they want to feel better about their pathetic lives? Yeah, I don't think I'll be opening my thrift store socks from them, thanks." The tears were still there, and officer Wells could see. This boy was tough; and he didn't need to be. Wells was about to speak again when doctor Myer came back into the room, nodded in his direction, and turned to Lash, who still looked ghostly.

"You aren't eating." He stated. Lash stared straight ahead, refusing to answer. "Look, I really need you to eat something; you'll pass out if you don't." Lash still wouldn't answer. "When we were operating, I looked over your head for any other injuries, and there was a small cut on top of a scar, and we were about to stitch it up when we realized that there was a good size piece of glass inside it. We opened it up, took the glass out, and stitched it back up." Doctor Myer reached in his lab coat pocket and pulled out a piece of glass, showing Wells the textured letters on it. It was obviously a vodka bottle. Myer turned to Lash to show him it, but he wouldn't look at it. "Is there a story behind that?" Wells looked over at Lash and his eyes widened. The boy had curled up in the corner of the bed, his skinny arms covering his head, and his shoulders shaking violently. He was crying; no, he was sobbing. Wells looked over at the doctor again, a look of slight embarrassment on his face. "I'm sorry son, but we need to know the story behind it – it's a pretty serious thing."

"My parents, before they died. Mom was an alcoholic; fucking addict... on Christmas Eve, when I was nine, she just got angry… threw that fucking thing at my head and stormed out."

"Oh my… is that why you are in foster care?" Myer asked gently.

"I don't know if you can call it care, but yeah." Lash sounded bitter, but the two adults couldn't blame him. "Look, I don't care because I'll be eighteen in half a year and I'll move out." He let out a pained sigh. "When can I leave this place?" The doctor stayed silent, avoiding Lash's waiting eyes. It was obvious that he didn't want the boy going back to a house where he would be neglected, but Wells knew it would take a long time to get him into better care. Child abuse was always a painful thing to deal with, especially since there were so many excuses from the parents.

"We'll get you home in a few hours." Myer spoke quietly, as if he had given up. The doctor motioned for officer Wells to follow him out of the room. "Look officer, the boy's breathing is back to normal, but we will need to give him an inhaler just in case. I was hoping you could check on him in the morning, just to make sure he's alright; maybe check to see if there are any new cuts and make sure he eats something. I know it's a lot to ask – especially on Christmas morning – but it would really be helpful. I'd go myself, but Christmas is a very busy time of year here."

"I'll go first thing in the morning, no problem." Wells answered immediately. He was glad the doctor had asked him to check on the boy instead of some insensitive social worker.

"Great thanks, I'll just go take out the breathing tube and we'll get him a wheelchair – it'll be good if he stays off his feet for a little while. Surgery is tough on kids." Wells nodded as he watched the doctor walk back into Lash's room. He sat down on one of the dreadfully uncomfortable chairs in the waiting room. He didn't know why, but he had an uneasy feeling about the whole thing; he didn't think they were allowed to let patients out this early; but – looking around – he saw that they probably needed all the room they could get. The waiting room was overflowing with injured people; an overwhelming feeling of despair washed over him. All of these people deserved to be home with their families, but instead they were at the hospital. Christmas – all though one of the cheesiest holidays of all – was supposed to be a happy, comfortable, safe holiday; but no one here was getting any of that. He was shaken from his thoughts at the sound of the nurse's voice.

"Here's his inhaler." She said, handing him a small gray tube. He looked past the tired looking young women and saw Lash – back in his own clothes – being wheeled towards him by the doctor. He looked dreadfully unhappy, obviously not used to being so helpless. Wells thanked the doctor and the two reviewed for a moment the procedures for checking on Lash – what to look for and all that.

"So are you taking me back to my house?" He asked when had been positioned in the passenger seat of officer Well's car.

"Yes I am, and I'll be back in the morning to check on you." Lash rolled his eyes as he heard this.

"Great." The two drove the rest of the way in silence, only saying their goodbyes – and a reluctant thank you from Lash – when they reached the house. Wells gave the boy his phone number and watched him roll towards the house. He stood in the driveway a short while, and found that he couldn't take his eyes away from the place; he was already worrying about the boy. The lights were off, and it was obvious no one else was home. Wells drove home to his family, and Lash went into an empty house. Ignoring everything the doctor had told him to do; he got out of the wheelchair and walked up to Ray's room, having no intention of eating any food. He walked over and sat down on the young girl's old bed; it felt so empty without her cheerful vibe. He almost seemed like he was empty without her as well. He couldn't remember how he had survived without the optimism of the curly haired five year old.

"Is there even a point?" He asked out loud. "Is there any reason for me not to die?" The voice in his head told him he was just being dramatic, but he pushed it aside. He knew it would be a completely miserable six months waiting to move out. And what would he do then, find a job and try to pay rent? Even when Ray was alive, there never seemed to be much point to anything. His teachers told him he just lacked motivation, but they said it like it was a disease. He stumbled towards the bathroom, determined to end his miserable life right then and there. He got into the bathroom and pulled out his blade, cutting three words clear into his unscathed wrist. He reached up to his neck, ready to cut it right open when he thought of Ray; she wouldn't want him to die. He knew she hated it when he was sad, so why should he let her down now? Lash shook his dark brown hair and pushed the wheelchair carefully down the stairs behind him, sitting back on it when he reached the bottom. He wheeled himself over to the kitchen, opening cupboards over and over again, almost as if he expected them to grow food while they were closed. He reached in the pocket of his faded jeans and fished around for the small piece of paper the police officer had given him. He almost went over to the phone and called, but was so ashamed of ruining someone else's Christmas Eve that he left the crumpled paper on the small table, going into the living room and lifting himself onto the poor excuse for a couch. He fell asleep almost immediately, and dreamed that Ray was in heaven. He didn't wake up until he heard the loud slam of the door. He got back onto his wheelchair and started searching his brain for excuses, assuming it would be the officer. Unfortunately, it wasn't.

"What's with the wheelchair?" Lash froze and felt all his body heat vanish. It was Roy, and he sounded angry. "Aren't you going to say it back?" Lash couldn't speak no matter how hard he tried. "I heard about that little stunt you pulled, getting yourself landed in the fucking hospital. Some nosy police officers came and questioned me and your mom. You see, they were getting pretty harsh, those guys – threatened to put me in prison. I told them 'hey, I'm a good dad' but they didn't believe me. They took your mom downtown, but I slipped away, figured I might as well give you your Christmas present – as if that little bitch dying wasn't enough." Lash was shaking so violently he almost fell out of the chair. He didn't think he had ever been more scared in his life.

"I'm sorry, I'll tell them whatever you want me to." He managed to spit out. Roy laughed a manic laugh and reached into the pocket of his sports jacket. Lash had started crying, embarrassed by his own fear, as Roy pulled out a small gun and fired three shots vaguely aimed at Lash's stomach.

He walked over and kicked Lash in the side with all his might. "Merry Christmas you little fuck." He gave him one last kick before running out of the house and down the street. Lash was in so much pain he could hardly blink. He never thought he could even imagine such pain, and from someone the government trusted with his life. He could feel himself slowly slipping out of consciousness. He saw the vague shape of a slightly heavy set man standing over him before everything went black.

"You brought the kid back, what's wrong this time?" Doctor Myer asked with more then a hint of concern in his voice.

"I went over this morning and he had three bullet holes in his stomach, he was unconscious… I didn't know what to do." He knew he sounded stupid; after all, he was a cop. He was supposed to be trained for situations like this, but - for some reason – all his years of knowledge seemed to be gone, leaving him a blubbering mess standing in the waiting room of the hospital. Dr. Myer had left before he'd even finished his sentence, and was off to the room they had Lash in. He couldn't believe the luck of this poor boy; and on Christmas, of all times. By the time he had made his way to the room, another doctor had taken the bullets out of his stomach, but Myer knew that was no help. When something like led gets into the system of a super, it does severe damage. That, combined with the force in which it penetrated him, and the weak state of his body, he knew it was no use. He opened one of the boy's eyelids and had to bite back tears; there was no doubt he was dead, perhaps he had died on impact, who really knew. He told the nurse to take him to the other wing, so they could find out what exactly killed him, and hopefully find out who did it. He walked out, taking his time as he entered the waiting room. The friendly police officer who had come in earlier that night was hardly recognizable. He looked much older with the bags under his eyes, and he was wringing his hands in nervousness. He jumped out of his seat when he saw the doctor approach, but the glimmer of hope in him vanished completely when he saw the grim expression on Myer's face.

"I'm sorry." Was all he could manage to say; but was just about to explain the situation when another nurse came and told him they had found something on Lash. Wells followed the two without an invitation, he wanted to know what it was and he needed to see for himself that the boy was gone. After a long but fast paced walk they entered a small room where the boy lay, a small blanket covering him from the waist down. The nurse left them and another women came out of a small room connected to the one in which they had found themselves. Her face held a tight but sad expression, and she motioned for them to come to the other side of the bed. She then lifted up his right arm and turned it over so his white wrist was facing upward, showing three small words that had been cut into him.

_I'll be okay._


End file.
